Ama! Doll! I see you! I have been exactly where you are tonight, not winning a Tony (I lost five times,), and I want you to know: no one is saying that you’re a loser. To your face. Yes, they’re saying it behind your back, yes, they are making memes of you that you’ll see tomorrow (they made one of me, in a pig costume,  falling down on ice). Listen, after one of my losses, I took a bunch of OxyContin, a bottle of Bianco White Amber Vermouth, and five boxes of Hostess ho-hos and got in a row boat, in pitch dark, and headed out into the Hudson River. I did not expect to come back. But a tatted-up insomniac, in a pontoon, with a Port Wine stain on his face, grabbed hold of my lead rope and pulled me back to shore. Do you see? You and I have a purpose that cannot be killed. The lights never go dark on talent. They are just on dim, right now. You will, in fact, continue to exist, breathe and shine, and I say this not as a platitude but as a woman who has not only been where you are, but who has actually died (for twenty minutes)  and then returned  (of course I did, I still have so much more to give), so I know something about continuity in the face of devastating circumstance.

What happened tonight at the Tony Awards happened. Comedy very rarely wins, as it is profoundly empty, shallow, insignificant, oftentimes stupid, and incredibly childish. We knew that going in, and even though we campaigned hard, my legendary status couldn’t get you over the finish line due to all your haters (loudly complaining about your lack of star wattage, lazy eye, brassy tone, flat nose, etc).  The push back was insurmountable. So we hang up our caps, like big boys and girls, bring out our fake smiles (yours was so off-putting, needs work), and shake the proverbial hand of the winner.

Thankfully, you are not alone. There is a “Tony-less Members Only Club” and you, Anna Gastenmoyer, just became its newest member. You’ll join such luminaries as Brian d'Arcy James, Estelle Parsons, Laura Linney, Norm Lewis, Andrew Rannells and Ramin Karimloo. We meet on the first Wednesdays of every month, in the basement of Anita La Mamma del Gelato. We talk about feelings (anger, rage, fury, violence) and the burden of unrewarded stardom. When we’re all working, we’ll convene on Zoom or on the Dark Web, in a chat room called “DieTonyDie”. It is not only a support group, but, I would argue, the single greatest concentration of theatrical talent that the Tony Awards has consistently failed to honor.  The Award itself is a beautiful object, and I wish you had one, Alma. I wish I had five. What we have, instead, is the knowledge that the work speaks and that it matters, that the audience remembers, and that we do not stop. We never stop, or we die, like sharks.

That being said, while you pass the time sitting in the ash pile that is your career, something wonderful is happening to me. Shakespeare once said - or it might have been Bacon or Neil Simon or Paul Simon or Gloria Vanberbilt - I’m not sure - anyway, someone once said,  “Only when a performer falls, can another rise”. Your massive failure, your losing the Tony in such a grand, unforgettable fashion, opened the door for me and my return to the New York Theater Community! And for that, you should be so proud! As I held you on my legendary shoulders to get you a Tony nom, now it’s your turn to carry me on your curved, brittle, bony ones, so I can announce my return, this fall, in a show so transformative, it will change our industry forever! 

Certainly, the New York theater community could use some fresh air, because, to be blunt, Broadway is suffocating. The American theater is in crisis. Every season, the marquees fill with the titles of shows you’ve already seen, properties you already know, the comforting armor of existing intellectual property that someone has decided is a sure thing. Show BUSINESS. And yes, some of it is wonderful. I’m not “a human monster”. But somewhere, in the middle of all those turds, the truly original work — the work that has no safety net, that exists because an artist could not stop it from existing — is disappearing. And when original work disappears, the soul of theater disappears with it.

This form, this medium, this great truth teller, has given my life form. I thought I had given all I could give when I died on stage in Canada, but I was wrong. Someone up there (not Canada, but Heaven) is not done with me.  And, so, in my own humble and inspiring way, I am going to give everything I have left to this grand experiment in the fall.

It is coming! As announced during the Tony Awards in Radio City, once “Proof, A New Musical About Love, Loss and Math: The Revival” is done (for now), September L. Davis will return to New York City in a revolutionary new work. An original piece of theater. A live event built around a newly imagined world and a constellation of legendary artists who believe, as I do, that the audience deserves to be shaken awake. To feel something enormous. To walk out of a theater where two things happened: you experienced something you can’t explain, and you move about your life with something you can’t stop thinking about, even as the filth of the Manhattan streets swirls around you. 

I will not give you a title. I will not give you a venue. I will not give you any hints about content or casting. I will not give you the borough it’ll be performed in. I will not even tell you if it’s in English or not. I will only tell you that you’ll need to bring your own seat belts because it’s going to be an out-of-control, thrilling, once-in-a-lifetime ride. 

Further details will be released when the moment is right. Sign up to receive below and be the first to know when tickets are released. 

And finally, to the loser Amber Gatsogger, you hang tough, girl. You got this. Remember, Wednesdays… basement… Tony-less Members Only Club… and half-off Gelato. I'll save you the corner spot. It has the best light… for your type of face. 💋